


bad things

by novoaa1



Category: American Horror Story: Cult
Genre: Age Difference, Consent Issues, Crying, Dark, Dark Ally Mayfair-Richards, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Discussion of prostitution, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, JFC, Light Sadism, Power Dynamics, Smut, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, and i thought MORMONISM was cult-ish, idk it's not very touchy feely or anything okay, kind of, often doing so in a way that's not at all healthy, they're two broken women, though that's understandable 'cause what the actual fork, who are dealing with tragedy beyond comprehension in their own ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: “Ally…” Winter begins gently. The poor girl sounds terrified. “I… I shouldn’t have asked, okay? I-I’m sorry. We can forget about it—”“What did Ivy see in you, hm?” Ally questions, raking her gaze over Winter’s slender figure without an ounce of shame.Winter tugs anxiously at the hem of her skirt, shaking her head profusely. “I don’t—”“That was rhetorical,” Ally snaps.Or: Ally's still angry about how everything went down. She takes it out on Winter.
Relationships: Winter Anderson/Ally Mayfair-Richards
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	bad things

**Author's Note:**

> READ. THE. WARNINGS. this is not safe, sane, or consensual, okay
> 
> title is inspired by the line "i only wanna do bad things to you" from bad things ft. machine gun kelly by camila cabello... but obviously, the rest of the song does not at ALL apply here

Ally has been many things in her life—a lover, a wife, a mother. Obsessive, fearful… _crazy_.

She’s killed people. She’s hurt them, too. 

She’s still not exactly pleased with it all, but there’s a difference between then and now. 

Back then, she _believed_ in things—good and evil, right and wrong, crime and punishment. _Rules_.

And now… well. Now, she doesn’t know if there ever were any ‘rules’ to begin with.

She shot Pedro. She killed him. That’s the worst kind of crime there is. 

Where’s her punishment?

One could argue that playing house with Kai is punishment enough, but she knows better than that. 

To be very clear—she doesn’t fancy herself blameless in all of this. 

No, she’s done some horrible, monstrous things. What’s worse, she _enjoyed_ it. 

The power she felt, the control… playing God amidst mortals, even if only for a moment. 

She _enjoyed_ it, and she isn’t afraid to do something just like it—something well and truly terrible—all over again. 

Winter Anderson stands in the dimly-lit interior of the ice cream truck out back at shit o’clock in the morning, looking to Ally with tear-stained eyes and asking if Ivy suffered when she died. 

A doe-eyed co-ed stands beneath yellowed lights in an old ice cream truck out back, tears in her pretty brown eyes as she begs Ally to tell her that Ivy—her _wife_ —didn’t suffer before she died. 

If Ally weren’t so goddamned pissed about it all, she might find it ironic. 

As it is, it’s just infuriating. 

Ally hoists herself up into the truck, advances on Winter (who makes a hasty retreat, matching Ally step for step) until she’s got her pinned back against the cool metal wall of the cluttered vehicle. 

Kai is somewhere inside ranting and raving about some FBI plot to have him killed—drowning in his own paranoia. Everyone else is fast asleep. 

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. 

“Ally…” Winter begins gently. The poor girl sounds terrified. “I… I shouldn’t have asked, okay? I-I’m sorry. We can forget about it—”

“What did Ivy see in you, hm?” Ally questions, raking her gaze over Winter’s slender figure without an ounce of shame. 

Winter tugs anxiously at the hem of her skirt, shaking her head profusely. “I don’t—”

“That was rhetorical,” Ally snaps, then takes a half-step back and fixes the girl with a cold, assessing gaze. “Take off your sweater.”

Winter visibly blanches. “Wh-What?”

“Your sweater,” Ally repeats calmly. “Take it off.”

Winter pales, but nods. Her hands tremble as she starts tugging at the hem, pulling it up, up, over her silvery hair before letting it fall to the ground beside her boots. 

She’s a pretty little thing—nice body. (Not that Ally didn’t already know that to begin with.) Toned stomach, defined collarbones, cute modest breasts sitting neatly in her plain white bra. 

She stares hard down at her feet as Ally drinks her in, utterly abashed. 

“Now the skirt,” Ally prompts softly. “And the bra, too.”

Winter shudders but unclips her bra in a smooth, practiced motion before letting the garment fall down her arms and to the floor atop her crumpled sweater. 

Her breasts are petite… perky, with pretty pink nipples that stiffen as Ally watches. Perfectly proportional to the rest of her figure. Ally bets they’d fit just wonderfully in her hands. 

The skirt comes next—loosened by a zipper at her waist, then dropped down to pool around her boots. She daintily steps out of them with all the grace of a lady, then nudges them to join the pile of clothing beside her.

She’s standing there, ashamed and half-naked in a pair of black stockings, a tiny scrap of cloth covering her crotch that Ally supposes is meant to be underwear, and little else. 

It’s… intoxicating. Exhilarating. 

Ally wants more. 

“Roll down your stockings,” she tells her. “The panties, too. I want to see you.”

Winter swallows thickly but does as she asks, dipping her thumbs in the waistband of her stockings and tugging them down to just below her knees. Her legs are toned and tan… trembling beneath the weight of Ally’s quiet regard. 

Her panties come next, and Ally almost huffs out a scoff at the revelation that it’s a thong. 

_Of course_. 

Perhaps most interesting to note, however, is the bit of slick that glistens visibly in the crotch of her meager garment. 

At that, Ally doesn’t bother holding back a snort. “Just like that, you’re wet? Really?”

A visible flush tinges Winter’s face. Ally watches with interest as the girl clenches her jaw, head still bowed—clearly wrestling with something. 

“Spit it out,” Ally says, a warning in her tone. 

Winter’s wide-eyed gaze flits up to meet hers. “Wanting you wasn’t a lie,” she says flatly even as a tear traces her cheek. 

She’s telling the truth. Not that it makes much of a difference. 

Ally huffs out another quiet laugh, stepping forth to crowd Winter against the side of the van. “You know what I think?” 

Another rhetorical question. She’s pleased when Winter doesn’t try offering up a response. 

“I think that you want _anyone_ who’ll give you the time day,” Ally whispers, splaying her hand palm-first across the slight swell of Winter’s stomach—fascinated by the way the girl’s tanned flesh quivers beneath her touch. 

“Ally… What are you—?”

“Did I say you could speak?”

Winter flushes bright pink, shaking her head. “N-No.”

“As I was saying…” Ally trails off, allowing her free hand to travel lower, ghosting over arousal-slick folds. No pubic hair, because of course, the harlot has her pretty little pussy waxed—completely hairless. “I think you’re a small, insecure little girl who’s desperate for attention… desperate to feel _loved_ , even if that means selling your body to the highest bidder.”

Winter gasps as Ally trails the tip of her finger through her dripping snatch—entrance to clit. “I don’t—I’m not a p-prostitute.”

Ally allows the ghost of a smile to curve her lips, plunging two fingers into the girl’s warm, clenching depths, and reveling in how she whimpers at the sudden stretch. 

“You’re right, Winter; you’re not a prostitute,” she agrees smoothly, easing a third finger into the girl’s dripping snatch before setting a punishing pace that makes her keen and buck and _writhe_ on Ally’s hand like the desperate little slut she is. 

“At least prostitutes are savvy enough to charge money for their services,” she continues, crooking her fingers inside Winter and probing until she finds the spot that makes her choke on air. 

“But you…” Ally allows herself a chuckle, then, still thoroughly drilling Winter’s tight little cunt, grinding her palm roughly against the slut’s turgid clit—taking her to the very cliff’s edge of pleasure in a matter of minutes. “You just give it away for free, thinking maybe—just maybe—if the right person fucks you, you won’t feel so goddamned empty anymore.”

She’s not sure who she’s talking about, now. Winter, or herself. 

She supposes it doesn’t matter. 

From the way Winter’s grinding her hips into every thrust, moaning like a cheap actor in a shitty porno, and spasming wildly around her fingers on every thrust, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that she’s close. 

Ally wants to make it hurt.

“Look at you now: writhing naked against me in the back of a shitty truck, drenching my hand in your own depravity, moaning for it—for _me_ —like the wanton little whore you’ve always been.” 

Tears stream down Winter’s flushed cheeks, and the look in her pretty brown eyes is utterly delicious—hurt and angry and _ashamed_ all in one. 

Her breaths pick up, her cunt clenches down _hard_ on Ally’s fingers, and Ally knows she’s at the cusp. 

“You want to know something?” she asks—rhetorical, but Winter’s in no state to even attempt an answer anyhow. “Kai didn’t kill Ivy. _I_ did.” 

Horror flits through Winter’s glazed-over eyes at the revelation, but she’s far too gone to do anything about it. Lewd squelching noises fill the tiny truck with every brutal thrust of Ally’s fingers, fresh slick trickles down into the palm of Ally’s hand, and they are past the time for making sense of things. 

“I want you to come—right here, right now, all over my hand—knowing that I killed her,” Ally whispers against Winter’s parted lips, delighting in the way her naked body shudders and twitches against her own. “Come for me. _Now_.”

And with an ear-splitting scream, Winter does—gushing into Ally’s palm, convulsing violently around her fingers, sobbing her way through an intensely powerful climax. 

It goes on for a solid ten seconds before the cries die down and the spasms stop and Winter slumps boneless into Ally’s chest—completely spent. 

Ally lets her be for a moment or two. 

The poor girl is exhausted, trembling and sobbing into Ally’s chest like a lost and devastated puppy. 

Ally used to like puppies. Even enjoyed their hyper, rambunctious nature despite the allergies which kept her from adopting one to call her own. 

She was foolish, then. 

Ally shoves Winter off of her without care, and if she winces just a little as the girl falls ass-first onto the floor of the truck with a resounding _thud!_ … well, that’s her business. 

“Ally?” Winter’s hoarse, tentative voice stops her as she turns to leave. 

She chances a glance back, takes in the sight of her—mascara and tears staining her unblemished cheeks, stockings and panties bunched around her calves, her cunt swollen and puffy from Ally’s abuse. And the look in her watery eyes… so young, and broken, and impossibly _sad_.

Ally refuses to let it affect her. “Clean yourself up,” she says shortly, curling her lip in disgust. “You look like a cheap whore.”

With that, she leaves before she can glimpse the devastated look in Winter’s bloodshot eyes. 

— —

**Author's Note:**

> look... i don't even know what this is dude don't even ask me
> 
> (though if you find any mistakes, please let me know 'cause i'm a lazy bitch when it comes to proofreading)


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